(Inspired by some of Magzdoodle's pieces...)
Somehow, I missed September and October because I cannot seem to remember when the sun began to fall behind the shadows of the mountains while I was still at school and, on Sundays, while I stumbled upon breaths in the dust-confined space for orchestra rehearsals. My fall-hating memories are hidden beneath this foggy phase of ticking clocks and color-changing leaves, because I cannot seem to remember when the leaves ever disappeared onto the frost-bitten grass or if they were ever colors.
I missed fall too—and such a funny name for a season. The leaves fall and the sun falls and every aspect of my life falls. We can never seem to take onto calling it autumn—no, only these pessimistic letters that somehow direct fate. The gloom, the cold, the under-changing hormonal structures of teenagers, the stress, the shadows—everything seems to pick up during fall and drop away once we reach those happy-go-lucky holiday months and sunny days. There can never be a balance.
And with this pessimism, tears fall—unrelenting tears of anger and frustration and humiliation, and I blame it on the naked trees and sun-less skies. So many tears—dictating my life, that I haven’t even been able to turn to my fingers, rusty and stiff from an unwanted vacation, and this keyboard, accumulated with months of dust, and these keys—oh these brilliant, rapid keys that are my pen. How I’ve missed them all. I’ve forgotten about the sensation of tapping away with misery and anger and frustration. I’ve forgotten all about prose, as well. It all feels incredible; it really does.
And nothing—not even the black-swathed, star-less night, not even the salty-tears on my pillow & keyboard & favorite pajamas, not even the falling facets of my life—nothing can ever take this away from me.